


Nostalgia

by quoll



Category: Crash Bandicoot (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Time Travel, Time bomb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quoll/pseuds/quoll
Summary: When N. Tropy manages to free himself from a paradox, the world he enters is nothing that he remembers. With his Time Twister inaccessible, he is forced to navigate this alien reality and find out if bonds truly do withstand the test of time.(based off a prompt from Skollekid/Nuggageddon ✨)





	1. Deliverance

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I have been trying to work out for a while, I didn't want to write myself into a corner again. Sorry if this chapter is a little slow, I do have a lot planned for the fic overall. Any and all feedback is appreciated, and thank you for reading :)

The world around him was still and silent, nothingness and everything all at once. It felt as though he had been in this state forever, or he’d just woken up from a long and well deserved rest. Laziness overtook him as he merely existed in this space, suspended and immobile, eyes closed and basking in peace. Each breath came with ease and tranquility.

In an instant, the world was inverted and an airlock had been opened. This feeling of contentment was violently ripped from him. No longer supported, he was suddenly hurling forward without direction. The sharp contrast to his previous state rendered him delirious and panicked.

The frantic lights and pockets of time around him were distorted and strange. The sounds, a cacophony of surging electricity and fragments of long forgotten speech, were excruciating. Everything was wrong and out of place. The nausea that rose within was all consuming and his heart pounded so forcibly he could feel it in his teeth. There was a tearing sensation spreading through his arm, then something breaking free and being lost behind him.

The crushing, oppressive weight in his chest threatened to expand and rupture within. It filled him entirely and he could not breathe. Trails of disembodied colors bled around him, through him. He felt as if he were helplessly paralyzed and continuously falling into this great white abyss. 

He could not see- the was light too much, the sounds too deafening. His ears rang and rendered him deaf to the dissonance around him. Stabbing pangs of anger, of bitterness, _all_ of his moral ugliness, burrowed through his core to lay upon that burning sensation in his throat.

In that series of seemingly endless moments, Nefarious was certain he was going to die.

He gasped loudly and fell to the ground as he was essentially spit out of an unstable portal. It disappeared behind him with a surge and took with it the deafening disarray of sound. After a few moments he began to regain his senses, but he soon became aware of his own pained wheezing as he struggled to roll onto his side and assess himself. 

His armor was ruined, buckled and bowed, and nearly torn in half. Another moment later and he would have been vaporized by the velocity of the continuum. He cradled his head to soothe the throbbing ache, its power immense and debilitating at its peak. Every coherent thought he had was drawn from him and left nothing behind. In the midst of this, Tropy attempted to get to his knees but found himself missing a vital component and fell back into the dirt.

This was so undignified, _humiliating_ , but he was alone for the moment and indulged in his self pity. Every inch of him burned and ached, every muscle was screaming for rest. He winced again at the pain in his arm and chanced a glance down. He furrowed his brow and looked away, defeated, _angry_. 

_Of course._

There was a generous amount of blood coating him that mixed with the soot and dirt he lay upon. Tropy grunted as he slowly managed to set up to examine the damage. He propped himself against a nearby tree and rolled up his sleeve with gritted teeth, hissing quiet profanities as he did so.

His left arm below the elbow was obliterated. Most of it had been torn off and what dangled behind was nothing more than a stub of the metal skeleton and delicate wires. His protective gauntlet must have been what gave in to the pressure. Part of it lay beside him in a crumpled heap. He swallowed hard as he looked over himself, his vision slowly coming back into focus. Other than blunt trauma, a potential concussion, and having his arm amputated for the third time, he had made it out rather alright. He used the term 'alright' very loosely.

His armor was no better and it hung off him awkwardly.The large, vibrant clock cracked and shattered, and the hinges could no longer close properly. The metal was twisted, the locks warped and deformed from excessive exposure to cycling chill and heat, and ever present duress. There was no buzzing warmth or electricity, no deep, comforting pressure to nestle within his chest. It was cold, heavy, and nearly pinned him to the ground. More stressful was the fact his suit was also his only protection, his only means of life support and stability, and now it was destroyed. Nefarious was suddenly extremely vulnerable.

He swallowed hard and breathed deeply, closing his eyes and resting his head against the tree. He was, effectively, marooned until he could get to a laboratory. Without his gear functioning, time travel was impossible. He could neither mend wrongs nor create them. The longer he processed this new found helplessness, the more his anger at the situation ebbed towards dread. This had never happened before, save for his Time Twister years ago. But even then, he was not _stranded_ in some alien timeline. Nefarious opened his eyes and blearily looked around him.

Despite its impractical location, a forest was a tranquil area for his spontaneous appearance. The ground nearby was now barren, charred and smoldering from his arrival. Thick vegetation and leaves surrounded him, and the towering trees overhead were soothing with their enchanting wavering shadows. Their kind branches shielded his eyes and the sweet, humid air made him drunk and woozy. However, this could also be due to the fact he had been stretched the length of the universe and was potentially slowly bleeding to death. The latter musing brought a pained smirk to his face. Time was not on his side right now and he needed to move, but standing proved difficult.

He was weary and disoriented, his helmet having come loose and been lost during his misdirection. Is that what had happened? Is that why everything was so hazy? Tropy stared ahead with a confused glare, as though the gentle trees themselves would offer him wisdom. He had no memory of how he’d gotten here, or the events leading up to it. All that was and ever had been seemed to be oblivion and the turbulent wormhole that had literally pulled him apart from its force. 

Ruminating about this right now was impractical and he did his best to distance himself from the metaphorical tail chase of figuring out his current paradox. He was growing too comfortable here and needed to find some means of help, or at least shelter until dawn. Clumsily, he shifted all of his weight against the tree and used it as a means of support. His legs wobbled unsteadily as he struggled to find his footing. 

With a great deal of effort, he finally heaved himself forward. His body disagreed with this and responded with alarming queasiness, so it seemed he would maintain this position a while, too. At least he was halfway there, he mused. Better to go at it slow. He was going into this reality totally blind. Without his scanners or set coordinates, there was no means to figure out how or where he was. Minutes felt like they melted into hours as he regained his composition.

After several failed attempts, he managed to finally get to his feet and remain stable, though shaky. He was quickly reminded of his arm, the dangling metal and wires catching in the brush around him and painfully pulling him back. He laughed, exasperated, as he looked around, as if expecting someone to help him, or to be watching his plight. It wasn't everyday the proud and great Nefarious Tropy was a sitting duck. The growing lack of power and influence elicited nothing but animosity and unease.

"Alright, just... _pull it_..." He muttered harshly, stumbling as he freed himself of the snaring branches and sighed with wavering breath at another sharp, tingling pain that made him feel dizzy. When that sensation dissipated he was left with unbridled ferocity at his situation and kicked at the melted scrap around him. He was overwhelmed and so completely out of his element. 

Everything was so deeply _wrong_ and out of order. This entire situation was out of his hands and he didn’t know how to cope with this. There needed to be order and precision, _absolute control_ , and right now he had _none_ of that. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, trying to scratch an internal mental itch that would not abate, then looked around for anything to stop the blood from his arm and cradle the sensitive wires connected to his nerves and tendons. He decided to forsake his burnt and tattered lab coat as a makeshift dressing. One of the sleeves managed as a tourniquet, though he struggled to give it any substantial tightness.

Nefarious sighed shakily, his eyes rolling in his head at another wave of vertigo. He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and looked down to admire his work. His arm was wrapped and the connectors he was able to salvage were safely nestled within the confines of their fabric cast. Red splotches were slowly growing but it would subside with time. Arm addressed and the sad remains of his gauntlet collected, he set out with no true direction or plan. 

What a sight he must be as he staggered through the woods. He was a spindly giant with gaudy, deformed bronze adornments hanging off him that clanged and scraped against trees noisily as he struggled to balance himself. He knew he looked worn and haggard, and he was. He had no idea how long he had been in the vortex, but he was certain he would have had another white streak in his hair to tell of his mistake, if he had any left.

As he cautiously walked through the wilderness, signs of life became apparent. Typically, this elated him. It was something new to poke and prod at, a fun new toy to throw infinite scenarios at for his own curiosity and enjoyment. But that was when he was at his peak. Right now, he was reminded more of his first expedition, and that same helpless feeling twisted sharply in his gut. Perhaps it was his own nervous, but he was unable to shake the impression that something was watching him. 

His ears buzzed, jaw clenched as he continuously scanned the area. The deeper into these woods he went, the more curious, and wary, he became. Remains of meals and campfires seemed relatively fresh, and confirmed there was definitely something, or someone, living in the area. He hurried his pace as dusk was soon upon him, and he was in no condition to confront any sort of creature.

Tropy reasoned he’d been walking for hours by this point. The sky was a myriad of orange and red as the sun sunk further into the distant mountains. Night would fall soon, and that would prove exponentially more dangerous. His body begged for rest but he pushed forward, that creepy feeling against the back of his neck helping to propel him. He continued walking, mind focused solely on each footstep, his heart skipping on the occasion he heard a rogue third footfall outside of his own rhythm. Be it his delirium or something truly after him, he would not stop to look.

His perseverance paid off and a surge of hope rushed through him as came to a clearing, giving him a second wind. Finally, he could see the lay of the land rather than just a small pocket between the trees. He reasoned he was potentially on an island, given the endless body of water surrounding him. Something strange above drew his gaze and halted his journey.

Up in the sky, he saw the outline of something familiar, something that took a moment to gauge if it was truly there or just a mirage. With much scrutiny, he determined it was not a figment. It was as he thought- _Cortex’s airship_. Though it was something he’d never actually seen afloat, it was certainly something he’d been acquainted with. When he’d pop into the castle now and again, he would sometimes see the sad deflated remains tucked into a storage facility in the back, or seen the occasional photo hanging on the wall, but nothing more.

He stared up at the distant glorified balloon for a while, the sight of it sending something foreign through him- uncertainty. Again, this cemented into him that he had absolutely no idea where, or when, he was. There were no familiar landmarks to go by, save for this stupid airship with an enormous N patched onto the sides.

He wasn’t necessarily one to believe in cosmic intervention, but he did believe that things do happen for a reason. Usually, the reason was him, but of all the places to be dropped off out of a spiraling death vortex, he’d ended up here in this particular spot, close to Cortex. That little gremlin was the last person he wanted to ask for help… perhaps dying on this island wouldn’t be a terrible alternative- he’d had a pretty good run up until this point, after all.

The doctor shook his head with a heavy sigh as he weighed his options, but he knew he had little choice if he wanted to survive. The thought of groveling to Cortex, and also being _indebted_ to him, rooted him in place. _Surely_ there was someone else...

Nefarious perked up, a new breath of life pulsed through his chest and drew him forward on his feet, dragging him onward like a dog on a leash. Of course, it was so simple! If _Cortex_ was here, that means that Uka Uka would _also_ be present. Where one was, the other would follow.

The mask had helped him before, and vice versa. He had no doubt the entity would aid him now. Yes, he was _certain_ of it. Even were it to be before he, himself, and Cortex formally met, it would still lead him straight to Uka. Renewed hope invigorated him and carried him forward, legs moving at their own pace and of their own will without any guidance from their owner. The sight of the airship disappeared under the canopy of trees as he entered another densely forested area, but he could still make out its whereabouts through the gaps.

It was darker here than the previous area and his confidence withered ever slightly and anxiety bloomed from its remains. Snapping twigs and rustling leaves aside, he could sense some kind of general presence around him. In his elevated state, sounds and sensations became more pronounced and almost distressingly vivid.

The pain his his arm was momentarily forgotten, every nerve in his body bathed in a cold flame. Something in him wanted to stop and hide, and in any situation that is exactly what he would do, but that option was not available to him now. His safe haven of the Time Twister was completely inaccessible, and may as well not even exist. This was the first instance he could recall in decades he could not turn and simply leave when he grew bored or nervous.

He exhaled deeply, willing to extinguish these unfamiliar feelings like a candle with one, sudden rush. He couldn’t allowed himself to get caught up in these thoughts and trapped in his own head, it was fruitless and did nothing but waste his precious time. Tropy huffed, then it slowly dawned upon him that he had been gazing ahead during his tangent, and walked aimlessly through the brush. He looked up through the trees and could see nothing but the faint beginnings of stars. 

A faint ‘oh’ croaked out of him as he took a step back, bobbing and weaving through the branches to try and catch a glimpse of the airship and orient himself. He turned around, scanning the area frantically- everything looked the same. He hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings, if anything he’d done all he could to _ignore_ them and focus on the man made north star. He was disappointed and angry with himself, but self depreciation could come later. With a gulp he tried to find a center and stop tumultuous ideas before they truly started. He began by counting various things around him, counting the sweat droplets that were rolling down his face and disappeared in the hollows of his cheeks. He counted into the hundreds, thousands, as he seemingly turned in place and tried to orient himself.

He now counted the stars in the sky that were suddenly around him, beautiful glowing, flashing stars that flitted playfully from left to right. He was encapsulated by them and followed after the display clumsily through the darkness. The performance put him in mind of the bottom of the Time Twister, the inky black ocean filled with the perpetual glittering lights and sparkles of another world. It was beautiful and commanded all of his attention. It was uncertain how long he stood there marveling at the otherworldly cosmos, but just being in their presence stilled every nervous idea and indecision that lingered close by. 

The cool sensation had slowly spread and enveloped him. It was more frigid than space ever was, but simultaneously lulled him to rest, to find a warm soft place to curl up. It was soothing and inviting, and he leaned against one of the nearby trees, a groggy murmur of nonsense drifting out of him. The doctor looked up again at the array of twinkling yellows and blues drifting around him, some landing on his legs. It now registered that he’d been sitting on the ground. For how long? 

His conscious returned and he looked down at his arm- at least it wasn’t bleeding anymore. Exhaustion ravaged his body, however, and he kept finding his eyes wandering back to the hypnotizing glow of the fireflies. The longer he stared, the more colors they produced, and the more time slowed. Soon, beautiful speckles and trails of luminescent rainbows danced all around him until they stopped entirely. Time was frozen, he willed himself to reach out and touch one of the colored streaks and shatter it like an icicle, but he couldn't follow through with the action.

All sensations were lost to fatigue and he relaxed into the tree. Even after closing his eyes, he could still see the remains of the light show, traces of purple and green rapidly moving as he tried to focus on them. Soon they faded and disappeared without him noticing as he yielded to the inviting comfort of rest. He resided himself to be content that locating Uka would have to wait, whether he wanted it to or not. Before drifting off completely, rustling branches could be heard, and he was enclosed within the distinctive, and familiar, smell of exhaust and gunpowder.


	2. Discovery

_He leaned back in the chair at his console and massaged his forehead to relieve the tension from staring at the large monitor for so long. The horrible ordeal he'd faced on that deserted island was thankfully a dream and nothing more. He still felt unease in his gut but that would soon fade the longer he basked in the cool air of his Time Twister and the night sky above. Even after countless years here, he was always in awe of the serene beauty of his home and safe haven_

 _Everything was right with the world, save for the annoying wetness dripping down his head. Rain was a rarity and generally welcome, but this felt strange. He wiped his face with his hand and in that same motion the steady trickle of the water above turned into a downpour._

_He looked up with a confused scowl and stumbled out of his chair, mortified at what he saw. The expansive galactic wonderland was swelling and bowing outward, much like a ceiling panel bloated with water. The liquid pouring over him blurred his vision and irritated his eyes. He could hear a mechanical creaking and groaning of the time reactor under him followed by a great guttural eruption in the sky overhead. The starry night split in half like torn fabric and its color rushed forth like a waterfall._

_In slow motion, the wall was headed towards him, a reflective glossy tide of inky purple and blue hues. Like acid, everything the droplets touched first eroded completely, leaving behind a shining hole into the white abyss._

  
  


Nefarious started awake, disoriented and confused with his heart hammering in his chest. He clenched his fist, gravel and dirt meeting his palms and literally grounding him in the moment. He focused on the grit under his nails and how it grated between his fingers. He was on his back, the coldness of the surface gradually sinking in.

Images of the collapsing wave rushing towards him still played in his mind, stirring animosity like the churning metallic hues within the liquid. He dismissed it, putting all of his focus into the filth he lay upon and crunch forcefully in his hands. Dreams had meaning and importance, and he didn’t want to spend too long dwelling on this one.

As he lay there and came down from his anxiety, he became aware of the source of wetness on his forehead, something that smelled sour and musty like an old cardboard box in a basement. Carefully, he made a motion to remove it from his face but found some difficulty in doing so. His arm was leaden, likely due to the trauma of this whole ordeal, and he may have potentially atrophied from being in a suspended state so long.

Touching the object was horrid; it was akin to a warm wet slug. He cringed, removed it from his face, then tossed it aside. No slugs, just merely a wet rag, stained heavily with oil and spotted with mildew. He supposed it was the thought that counted, but how did it get there? He certainly possessed no such thing. It dawned on him now that he was no longer in the forest, but in some sort of crude shelter. With a great deal of effort, he managed to prop himself up on his elbow and glare blearily at his surroundings.

The place was a scrap heap, brimming with broken machines and appliances. The ground glittered with scattered gears and springs, and above him were decorative cogs, seashells, and bobbles suspended from string. On the ceiling, the holes in the shack’s roof resembled stars in the sky, and for a moment it gave him a pang of homesickness for the Time Twister and its endless night. The bittersweet memory was soured by his recent dream.

The lump that sprang to his throat made it hard to swallow and he looked away to glare at his surroundings once more. Now was not the time to be pining for his laboratory and home, or ruminating over some jet lagged nightmare, he needed to find out just whom, or what, had brought him here to their junkyard.

It was clear by the divide in the cluttered dirt floor, and the soreness in his back and head, that whatever brought him here had dragged him. He leaned forward and with the support of a nearby generator, began to slowly get to his feet. His fatigue was worse than before, yesterday’s hike and blood loss affecting him well into today. His legs trembled and buckled like a fawn’s and he sneered with disgust at himself. This was _not_ who he was- he wasn’t some _feeble old man_ who needed a walker.

Pushing through, he took a cautious step, then another, and allowed momentum to carry him onward into the rest of the hovel. The man continued to support himself with the nearby machinery, the hoard of which closely resembled a maze of sorts. Places like this, of absolute chaos beyond his control, distressed him, but for now his ego was thankful for the crutch.

In addition to a maze, being here in this room reminded him of another time, another place. It put him in mind of N Gin’s lab, a junkyard brimming with active explosives, toxic waste, and ruined decades old machine parts that he ‘might find a use for later’. As he slowly worked his way through the hoard, he took notice of the various oddities that littered the place.

So much outdated technology, some of it entangled in the petrified remains of kelp and fishing net. It was haphazardly stacked on top of itself: old telephones, computer monitors, washing machines, dismembered shopping carts, and countless barrels. He assumed this was merely the tip of the iceberg and he could only imagine what other garbage was hidden within. 

In some places, the 'collection' climbed up to the ceiling and teetered every now and again when he leaned against the scrap. Noting this, he slowed his movements. That's all he needed now was to be encased and ultimately crushed under this mechanical garbage. As much as the all of this disgusted him, he couldn't help but have a strange fondness for it once his mind wandered back to the N Gin again. This entire place was painfully familiar and being here gave him a sense of déjà vu.

A sudden high pitched chirp made him freeze in place and he began hurriedly scanning for the source. Experimentally, he took another step and the chirping became more frantic. He awkwardly hopped back and searched for a new route to take, one away from active explosives. When there was none he knew he would have to quickly find it and disarm it, and the whole thing became a game of shuffling back and forth to find the flashing light buried under the rubble. The act, and anxiety with it, brought to mind one of his first encounters in Gin’s lab.

  
  


_Where was he? Cortex was going on about his new insipid ideas for world domination in the board room and apparently N Gin ‘absolutely had to be there' and the situation was 'critical' because it was his turn to bring the donuts. He’d gone in search of him and went to the most obvious place, his laboratory._

_The noxious cloud of benzene and burning oil was noticeable even before he’d reached the lab’s entry. Carefully, he let himself in and covered his sensitive nose with the sleeve of his lab coat. This was not his first visit, but clearly the cyborg was actively working on a project given the smell of fuel. He looked down to see something like gasoline snaking along the busted concrete floor to join the myriad of stains and eventually become one itself_

_He shook his head with a cluck of disdain. He would never be reduced to working in conditions like this. But, for whatever reason, the chaos made N Gin happy, and while he would love nothing more than to clear the area to relieve his own mental itch, he knew it wasn’t worth the effort._

_Nefarious took no more than ten steps when a rapid, frenzied chirping began beside him. The sound itself was disorienting and left him in an internal panic. He had no idea what it was- it sounded like a smoke alarm but he knew that couldn’t be the case, N Gin had no concern for safety. Suddenly he was jerked away to the side and the beeping subsided. He realized he’d been standing next to an active water mine, and another inch would have likely set it off. Tropy scowled at him, totally exasperated at the snaggle-toothed grin he was presented with._

_He didn’t have the words, he was too rattled from his near death experience, and the amusement that met him compounded his irritation. All that Tropy could muster was and a torrent of scolding babbles, which only earned giggles from the smaller man. His reckless behavior was one thing, but not when it threatened his own livelihood. Finally, he managed, “It’s_ active _?! You could take out the whole bloody castle with this!”_

_“I know, isn’t it exciting?” He giddily went over to the mine, its frantic beeping resuming before cutting short with an sad warble as the little cyborg disarmed it. He gave him a mock sympathetic look and patted his arm delicately, as though his outrage about his near explosion was overly dramatic, “Better?”_

  
  


He turned the scrapped mine over in his hand then sat it gently to the side. He had not thought about N Gin for a long time, or so it felt. His body went cold thinking of him, cool waters of dread pouring through his limbs as it dawned on him he had absolutely no idea if he was even in this world. The little cyborg’s face now replaced everything else and filled his mind. Memories, experiences, gentle words exchanged that he held for no one else. N Gin was the first human in decades to really matter to him, to become more than a fun thing to poke at.

At first, that’s what it was all about- to tease him and throw scenarios his way and see how he’d react, along with a curiosity about his peculiar ‘adornment’. N Gin had been the only one to allow the barrage of pranks and mean spirited jokes. He never attempted to get even, but nor did he allow himself to be a doormat, and that had intrigued him.

But then something _else_ came, something strange and frightening- _feelings_. He wasn’t _used_ to feelings, he didn’t _like_ them. He was initially totally repulsed that _this_ is the human being that would trigger friendly and romantic feelings, this dumpy little man that was an amalgamation of human and pug.

But all of that grew on him. It was charming, _precious_. Even in his supposed ugliness, he was adorable. His awkward wobbles and robotic wheezing that were once morbidly funny had become sweet and comforting behaviors. With N Gin, he somehow felt unity and understanding, and that was a commodity he was now finding he deeply missed.

He focused his attention back on the disabled weapon in his hand. Seeing the craftsmanship of these mines and their distinct paint job, this massive hoard of botched weaponry…

The doctor wouldn’t allow himself to get wrapped up in hope, not yet. Hope was dangerous in situations like this. He sat the mine down on the scrap heap and continued on, at times having to climb over or duck under piles. In places the metallic maze had little alcoves and tunnels that made him uneasy. They were too small for his own large form to explore and he had no idea what may be lurking inside. All at once he had a similar feeling as though he were standing in the middle of the dark ocean with the unseen creatures of the deep, and doubled his pace to get out of the mess.

It seemed like hours had passed until he made it to the other side. He was mostly going on feel by this point, his only light source of the overhead holes having disappeared a while ago. Along with its other purposes, he wished for his gauntlet simply for its illumination. Darkness was familiar but made him increasingly uneasy in his highly vulnerable position.

He reached the end of this maze when his hand met the rough scratchy surface of the wall. Careful of his footing, he followed its length until he reached another door frame, this one seeming to belong to the original structure of whatever this building originally was. He couldn’t quite make out all of his surroundings once he made it through the frame, but he could see a distant glimmer coming from another room.

Much like the fireflies from earlier, it beckoned to him. The dim glow belonged to an oil lantern that seemed to be on its last leg. He examined it then lifted it off its surface to better illuminate the area. The first thing he saw was a dull flash of bronze from the corner of his eye.

Scattered on the work bench and floor were the remains of his time suit - that had all been completely dismantled. Seeing the suit crudely hammered flat and the large clock gutted for parts made his stomach fall. If any component was missing there was a chance for it to never be restored, and a chance to never correct his misdirection.

Strewn along the ground were thousands of discarded washers, screws, and other small trinkets, all of which overwhelmed him. Glancing back at the table he was filled with rage and no longer held fond feelings towards his apparent savior and wondered if he was merely a byproduct of their scavenger hunt.

With an anguished sigh, he turned from the sad remains of his armor and left the room in search of a satchel or binding large enough to accommodate the heavy metal plates. The trek was easier now with the aid of the lantern. By the looks of things, this place had been a factory in its better days.

Shattered glass and tin cans crunched under his feet and echoed theatrically through the otherwise desolate halls. Amid his noisy footsteps he swore he heard something painfully familiar, a subtle yet deafening ping that made his ears burn, similar to if water had rushed into them. He stopped and listened, scanning the area and noticing the trembling garbage and rubble at the end of the corridor.

The sound did not emit again but there was no mistake in what it could be, nothing else sounded like that. His tuning fork evoked intense vibrations and sonic pulses that at its peak, easily rivaled a blue whale. Without realizing it, he was drawn to the noise and paid no mind to how loud his stomping was; he was focused entirely on the ping that still faintly clung to the surrounding walls.

The closer he came to the area the more he could feel the sharp prickle of electric energy in the air. Papers around him were still settling from the pulse and it only confirmed what he already knew. His heart leaped anxiously as he scanned the area frantically but found nothing of interest leapt out. It was a massive staff of platinum and, much like himself, stuck out like the spectacle it truly was. It was impossible for it to disappear into the background with the mops and brooms, and being denied salvation when he knew it lingered near by twisted in his mind like a hot searing flame.

He turned the room upside down, the phantom droning ping still resting on his ears and cutting through the chaos that he conjured up in his surroundings. Expending energy he did not have, he demolished the area, desks and lockers turned to their sides, contents spilled all over the floor and ruined under his feet. Everything was a crumbled heap and buried in grime and dirt once he was through with it.

He leaned against a toppled desk, dizzy and panting as he collected himself and he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He felt deeply wronged. He didn’t like being teased or played with but now, in his mind, that was _exactly_ what was happening. It seemed he was trapped in his own purgatory, exhausted and aimlessly wandering the dark halls in search of something that may not even exist in any place but his mind.

As he calmed down from his tantrum, another sound resonated with him. He strained his ears to it, some gentle sporadic crackle of electricity. He drew himself upright, slowly, and observed the room again.

There, in the corner, wedged between a cluster of destroyed lockers, he saw an intermittent sparking in the darkness. After staring for a moment, could make out the loose shape belonging to a mass. When he stepped forward, it moved away simultaneously. This mass was _alive_ and watching him, and the revelation that a creature was silently spying on him in the dark this entire time unnerved him like few things ever could.

He took another tentative step and noted the electrical crackling increased in both intensity and frequency the closer he came. It made no attempts to escape and was effectively trapped behind its fortress of debris. He held the oil lantern up, swaying it to and fro to try and effectively shine light on the figure, but it proved difficult due to the awkward, bulky shapes of the lockers.

Tropy no more than caught a small glimpse of the creature before it suddenly burst from the blockade in attempts to escape. It stumbled over the newly created mess and the doctor instinctively grabbed the figure by the scruff of its shirt. This drew forth an ugly, primal howl that distorted at its peak like a broken speaker. Following this was a loud hiss of air and hot, ash laden smoke stinging his eyes and nose.

It took considerable effort to keep his grip, pure adrenaline giving him strength he wasn’t aware his biological body still possessed. Any other time he would have picked up this troublesome thing effortlessly, but his unadorned body was too brittle and weak for that. He held the figure in place while it thrashed about and just before he lost his grip, the entity calmed down, having worn itself out.

The resistance of its pulling went slack but Tropy did not relent, until the figure turned to face him. The sight of him made all feeling leave his extremities and he stumbled back a few paces. Much to his surprise, the figure did not run and flee, rather he stood there with deer in headlights expression that he was sure mirrored his own.

_N Gin._

This N Gin appeared different, but it was still _him_. His stomach and heart contorted painfully as he stood in silence, his head muzzy from the emotional hurricane within. He wanted to embrace him but physically could not bring himself to move. Even in the darkness he could make out the cyborgs expression- confusion, apprehension. Nothing kind or loving, and nothing that particularly warmed his heart.

Gin offered him nothing, jaw clenched and eyes fixed on him, unblinking, before darting around the room, clearly wishing for this interaction to end. His reaction, or lack thereof, cut through him and pulled a deep anguish from his core. He shouldn’t take it personally, but he did. The uncomfortable quiet continued as they merely continued to observe the other under the flickering gleam of the dying lantern.

The sight of him was physically uncomfortable and with any other being he would recoil in disgust at the sheer level of filth and grime that encrusted him. In this lighting, he was grey, hair blackened, matted and wet with grease and machinery oils. It hung limply in his face in parted sections, blackened from the soot and dirt that was drawn and clung to the sticky wetness.

Were it not for the characteristic missile jutting from his skull, he would have never assumed this to be the same man he'd known from appearance alone. His reaction was not what he expected or could have hoped for- quite the opposite. Wide eyes and the vibration of his hair spoke more of fear than excitement.

Tropy creased his brow, mouth slightly agape as a question lingered on his tongue that would provide him reassurance in either regard. He didn't want to ask, he didn't feel it should be necessary. His gaze was continuously drawn back to the hole in his face plate, the rapid sparking proving to be a distraction and a mental burden. The words left him unconsciously while fixated on the blue bolts of lightening inside his colleague's skull, “Do you know who I am?”

Gin's eyes darted around the room again and he became visibly agitated, chest heaving with rapid breaths and fingers intertwining and twisting each other, "Of course I do!"

The doctor's elation went from soaring to rock bottom when Gin added with a sudden violent burst, “ _You_ are the one who came out of the sky, and destroyed N Gin’s radish garden! They were _almost_ ready for harvest… Do you know how _long_ N Gin has _toiled_ to bring his crops to life in the dirty sand?! Only to be completely _obliterated_ at the _peak_ of their lives?!”

“Now what am I supposed to do? The growing season is almost over, I have nothing!” He turned away from him and hung his head mournfully, “Oh _woe_ is N Gin...”

The time master was taken aback by his voice and how different it sounded. Surely it wasn't just the passage of time and decay of his memory that left him so startled. It was jarring and wavered between the familiar heavily synthesized tinny ring and his own unobstructed voice. He had never heard this true, real voice, and in the current circumstance all it did was startle him. This was different- _This N Gin was different_. This N Gin also didn't know who he was and it left him cold inside.

Hurt as he may be, he couldn't lash out. He couldn't let his own emotions get in the way of logic. This wasn't Gin's fault, it wasn't anyone's really. It was an unfortunate by product of being lost to time. People forgot you when you weren't around, and with his particular case, his existence was not concrete.

"I see." He cleared his throat to still the growing strain that formed there, and inhaled deeply to stop any of the other emotions that rested in his chest. Tropy thoughtfully watched this new N Gin and only half listened to his rant about his various gardens and how they all continued to meet the most unfortunate fates.

"I'm sorry for ruining your vegetables." He offered an apology, a practice still distressingly foreign on his tongue, but Gin being the recipient made it easier. This seemed to placate him as he stopped mid meltdown. It was as if a switch had been flicked, and though he still held a glare of contempt, he said nothing more of Tropy's mindless cruelty towards his radishes.

He carried on, hoping to butter him up a little to keep him calm, "It's very impressive you were able to grow anything in such a place at all. I'm sure with your prowess you'll have your garden back in due time, probably even better now that you've gotten it down to an exact science."

N Gin floundered, muttering nonsense, brown furrowed as violent sparking showed through the hole in his head. The cyborg huffed, clearly torn between anger and bashfulness, "Well... yes, um... _Yes_ that's _right_!"

In a matter of seconds, he was brimming with manic energy, voice still randomly shifting between human and machine as he overworked his voice module. His head sparked violently as he rushed around the room, gathering things for his new task, "Yes, N Gin's new garden will be _magnificent_. All of you will be envious of its radiance!"

He droned on with his excited babbles, arms full of nonsense from broken desk fans to warped piece of plywood. N Gin stood there and looked around, brow furrowed as he tried to work out some problem. Then he turned his attention to Nefarious and shoved the bulk of his hoard into his arm, to which he instinctively clamored to keep hold of. 

" _You_ will help build my new planter boxes to protect my precious plants from the filthy _vermin_ on this island, and any other _dusty old men_ who fall from the sky."

All of this was happening much too fast. His mind hadn't quite caught up to the present and he was struggling to process the barrage of new information all at once. It felt like his brain was short circuiting as he watched the cyborgs mouth move with frantic words but only distant murmurs reached his ears. _Now_ is when it truly hit him that N Gin had no idea who he was, and that all of those years together meant absolutely _nothing_ to anyone than himself. 

"You really don't know who I am?" Tropy interrupted him.

"I have told you, I know exactly who you are-"

"No." He glowered as he cut him off again, quickly growing tired of this cruel charade, this apparent 'amnesia'. There was no way N Gin could have completely forgotten him, he _refused_ to believe it. Be it his own ego or pained heart he wasn't sure, but the longer he was left to process it, the more his outrage over this specific fact spread through him like wildfire. 

Words tumbled out inelegantly as he struggled to make sense of his thoughts, "We've known each other for _years_. I don't... I don't remember what happened to cause it, or what I did to reverse it, but I've been trapped in a paradox. I am Nefarious Tropy, master of time, and inventor of the Time Twister. You've been there _dozens_ of times."

The cyborg regarded him blankly, the occasional spark crackling here and there to punctuate the lack of response. He goaded more, "We... _worked_ together, for Cortex. We-"

“ _Master Cortex_? The master- you know the master?” His tone changed completely, his garden's destruction forgotten. He gripped his lab coat, staining any remaining whiteness with black soot from his gloves.

Gin pulled with such ferocity he nearly toppled the man twice his height to the ground. Tropy has forgotten how strong the he actually was, even in his deteriorated state. Eager anticipation and genuine yearning were visible and nearly tangible, “Has the master sent you?”

Tropy did nothing to hide his disappointment but N Gin didn't seem to care, or even notice. He'd always had a one track mind when it came to matters of Cortex, and it had created feelings of bitterness and jealousy for the egocentric time master. Still, he carefully weighed his options. He could either continue to play this game until he finally exploded and in turn ruined any chance of getting off this island... or he could go a different route, the original route he'd intended before his detour here.

Gin could potentially lead him to Cortex and, as much as he'd hoped he could avoid it, if he had any hopes of purging this world from his timeline it was a necessary evil. Already, he didn't like this world. He didn't like this different N Gin. They were strangers to one another and he lacked the emotional clarity to feel anything other than a hopeless disgust.

The cyborg was silently begging for an answer, fists shaking from the ferocity of his grip. Tropy responded with a flat, "Yes."

" _The master_ \- the master has come for me! He has come for N Gin!" He bounced in place, pure jubilation emanating from him in the form of joyful shrieks of laughter. The smaller man withdrew from Tropy and darted this way and that, stopping suddenly and turning around as he struggled to collect himself.

“I need to get in contact with him.” Nefarious could not match his enthusiasm, but he continued to soothe himself that he could _fix this_ , and that repeated mantra helped push him through his own emotional chaos, “All of my equipment was ruined when I… _appeared_ , here. Do you have a means of communication?”

“No… I do not remember the last time I have heard from Doctor Cortex...” N Gin trailed off, wringing his hands together slowly, followed by another joyful outburst, “But we can build one! I will show you how! Yes, you and me, Mister Trophy-”

“ _Tropy_.” He corrected hotly.

“Yes, yes… we will build a communicator. Forget the radishes.” N Gin smacked the building components out of Tropy’s arm and they clattered to the floor obnoxiously, “None of this matters now. Come, N Gin will show you the control room.”

Gin waddled ahead of him then stopped, turning and beckoning to him eagerly. Nefarious hesitated, then ambled behind him in a sort of daze. Presently, he was simply going through the motions, intense anger and sorrow having ebbed off into a detached numbness. All of this was so much to digest at once.

With a deep breath to steady himself, he continued his internal mantra that he could fix this and this would be a bad dream sooner than later. In the meantime, he tried to focus on Gin’s excited monologue while he followed him down the decrepit hallways, and mentally prepared himself to become reacquainted with Cortex.


End file.
